The Great Collapse
by mathncoffee
Summary: A young Breton mage, newly arrived at the College of Winterhold, investigates the cause of the Great Collapse. No one is satisfied with what he finds. The Falcotte Chronicles: Episode I


Henri Falcotte's first impression of Winterhold was an atmosphere of suspicion. He could almost feel it in the air as he stepped out of the back of the wagon. He could see it plainly in the eyes of the locals who stared at him. The people passing by looked at him out of the corners of their eyes as they walked quickly past. A striking Nord woman pulled her child close and crossed the dirt road to avoid walking close to Falcotte. He even noticed a couple of the locals making signs to ward off evil. A few of the local militia were within view; all of them were staring at Falcotte and a few were gripping their swords. Falcotte wondered briefly if he was going to be cut down as soon as he tried to talk to someone.

He went by the name Falcotte and hadn't used his given name for more than a decade. Falcotte was easy to distinguish from any native of the area. The Nords tended to be tall and powerfully built with light hair and bright eyes, but Falcotte was short, even by Breton standards, with dark hair and eyes. He was also rather skinny. The locals looked like hardy survivor types. Falcotte wondered if he would survive his first winter in Skyrim.

The next impression Falcotte sensed was a feeling of hopelessness. Even behind the distrusting and suspicious stares, he could clearly see the hopelessness and despair. Whether the hopelessness and despair caused suspicion or the suspicion led to a sense of hopelessness, Falcotte could not tell. He knew suspicious people without hope could be very unpredictable and dangerous.

Winterhold, aptly named since it did not look like winter ever eased its grasp on the town, was going to be a very grim place to live. Even now, at the height of summer it was overcast and cool. The weather would only get worse as the year wore on. The locals had not shown any outright hostility, but he couldn't imagine that they would be any warmer than the weather.

If not for the College of Winterhold, Falcotte would have climbed back aboard the wagon he arrived on and departed, never to return.

Falcotte shouldered his small bag of possessions and stepped away from the wagon to get his first good look at Winterhold. The remains of destruction and devastation were everywhere; broken timbers, caved in roofs, buildings where half the structure was completely missing, large mounds of the weathered remains of houses. When he looked west, it seemed like the city ended at some invisible line. All he could see beyond a certain point was clear blue sky.

To Falcotte, the truly curious aspect was the age of the devastation. Whatever caused the destruction had happened years or decades before. The exposed broken wood was gray with age, and the exposed interiors of the half-collapsed buildings were as weathered as the exteriors. Given the age of the destruction, Falcotte thought that the locals would gave cleared away the remains.

The destruction and disrepair of Winterhold was a mystery, and Falcotte found himself speculating about the cause.

Falcotte spotted the College when he turned and looked north. The stone tower and walls soared high above and stood out in stark contrast to the general disrepair and outright destruction of the rest of Winterhold. He could easily make out the soaring, arched walkways that stretched from wall to tower. Even from the far side of Winterhold, the building was impressive and imposing.

"I suppose you're here for the College, eh?" It was an old Nord, a man long years past his prime as a warrior. He was withered, weathered, and bent with age. Even so, he was still taller than Falcotte and looked down on him.

Falcotte bowed slightly at the waist and replied, "Yes, grandfather, I am here to attend the College."

"Only reason anyone comes to this gods forsaken place these days," said the old man. He turned his head and spat a thick wad of bloody phlegm into the dirt of the road. "Off with you then. Study your occult foolishness then and try not to kill any more innocent folks!" His voice had grown strident and louder until the man was almost yelling.

Falcotte took a step back. "I have never killed anyone in my life, grandfather. What happened here that has caused all of this destruction and despair?"

"Ask 'em up at that College yer goin' to." The old man shook his head, turned, and staggered away.

Falcotte would have thought the old man a drunkard from his words and reaction, but he hadn't smelled any alcohol on the old man's breath.

Thinking that it was probably safer to be inside the College than outside in Winterhold, Falcotte started toward the tower. The "city" of Winterhold was only a few dozen weathered and dilapidated buildings. Even though the carriage wagon had dropped him off on the south edge of Winterhold and the College was out past the northern edge, it only took a few minute's walking to reach the College gates.

The gates were open, and Falcotte could see a tall, slender woman standing just inside of them. At first, he thought that she was a Nord woman but was surprised when he got closer and saw that she was actually an elf. He'd seen very few of the Altmer since entering the province of Skyrim. Still, if a high elf was going to be anywhere in Skyrim, the College of Winterhold was probably the most likely spot. When Falcotte got within a dozen feet of her, she held up her hands.

"Do not attempt to approach any closer. The magic barrier is not fatal, but you will be knocked unconscious and will be weak and disoriented for several days."

"I have come to join the College," Falcotte said with as much confidence as he could muster.

"Indeed," she said as here right eyebrow went up. "Then you will have some skill with magic already."

"I am a Breton of High Rock. Very few of us are utterly without skill in magic. I have some skill already, but there is always more to learn, and I was not considered particularly skilled…even for a Breton who had barely reached his twentieth birthday."

"So, you have a reasonable view of your talents and don't expect us to grant you the title of Arch-Mage next week. That is a good start. You will find that is not a common trait among some of the other students here."

She stopped speaking. Falcotte waited for several seconds, and spoke up only when it was evident that she was not going to continue.

"Will you lower the barrier so I can pass?"

"After you demonstrate your skill. Perhaps some light or flame? Maybe summon a daedric weapon or armor of some sort? Maybe you could even cure my hangover?"

Falcotte considered trying some impressive feat of magic; light in one hand and a ball of purple flame in the other. In the end, he decided that a simple demonstration would be sufficient. He used a Breton flame charm to summon a small ball of flame that rolled along the ground and crashed into the magic barrier. The ball of fire instantly blinked out of existence, and Falcotte felt a surge of power well up within him and began pouring into the shield. It felt like his life and spirit were being sucked out to feed the magical barrier.

It took every ounce of will to break the connection, but he did it. When Falcotte's head cleared, he found himself on all fours with his hands covered in a spreading pool of vomit.

"Oh, I forgot to mention that using magic against the barrier causes a nasty feedback," the elf woman said. She gave him a small smile and then began a quick charm. "The barrier is down, please come through quickly."

Falcotte struggled to get to his feet and staggered past the point where his fireball had disappeared. He nearly fell to his knees when he came to a stop. He could hear the elf woman reciting another charm behind him.

"I'm Faralda, an instructor here at the College. I have to remain here at the gate. Follow the stairs up to the keep and speak with Mirabelle Ervine. She is Master Wizard and second only to Arch Mage Savos Aren in authority.

"Careful on the walk. It is not very wide, tends to be slippery, and has crumbled away in places. If you fall over the side, nobody is going to recover your body."

Falcotte nodded his head and took a few steps along the walk, but he stopped before he had gone far. The land beneath the walk had dropped away at a sharp cliff, and the walkway had become a slender bridge over a drop of several hundred feet. Below the walkway, Falcotte could see jagged rocks and pillars of stone with the surf surging around them. A misstep while crossing the bridge would surely be fatal. Falcotte remained still for a few minutes, until his vision cleared and his stance was steady.

When he finally felt composed enough to make it across the bridge, he continued on toward the tower.

Mirabelle Ervine was waiting for him at a second gate. Falcotte wasn't certain, but he guessed that, like him, she was a Breton. When he finally reached the gate, Mirabelle looked him over quickly, nodded her head, and indicated that Falcotte should follow her.

Mirabelle found Falcotte an empty room in the Hall of Attainment, and after he deposited his possessions, she continued showing him around the College. She showed him the main training hall, the Hall of the Elements. She introduced him to Urag gro-Shub, the Master Librarian and Keeper of the Arcanaeum. Falcotte stared around at the shelves of books in the Arcanaeum, and Mirabelle had to call him twice to get his attention. She introduced him to the instructors and students they encountered. Despite the size of the College as seen from Winterhold, the tour only took about an hour.

Mirabelle and Falcotte stopped in the central courtyard outside the Hall of the Elements. Falcotte couldn't wait to see what other wonders Mirabelle would show him and was stunned when she spoke.

"That's the College. My job is to keep it running as smoothly as possible. Don't break anything and try not to kill yourself or a fellow student." Mirabelle turned to return to the Hall of the Elements.

"Wait. That's it? That's all there is to the College? What's the purpose? What am I supposed to do?"

Mirabelle gave him a hard stare. "Of course that isn't all of the College. Nevertheless, it is all that you need and are capable of using at this point. The purpose? Well, that is to learn magic, what did you think?

"Oh, and something that I haven't mentioned yet. Running this place is not cheap, so every three months the instructors and I discuss your contributions and decide on your tuition."

"But," he stammered, "I barely have a Septim left to my name. How am I supposed to get any more if I am studying here?" Falcotte's mind started running and his voice had an edge of panic.

"Tuition can be paid in coin, but there are other ways. Besides, you are not locked in here and there are opportunities to make a bit of coin in Winterhold and the surrounding area.

Falcotte was going to ask more about the payment methods, but Mirabelle cut him off. "Look, I have other matters to attend to now. Everything will work out, so talk to the other students about how they pay their tuition." Mirabelle didn't give him time to respond. She turned and headed into the Hall of the Elements.

Over the next days and weeks, Falcotte settled into the life of a student at the College of Winterhold. He attended the daily lecture given by one of the instructors, talked to his fellow students, occasionally helped them with their experiments, and made a few trial experiments of his own. He found out that the tuition was generally little more than a token amount of coin since the College still brought in a considerable amount from weapon and armor enchantments as well as potion sales. The tuition was more to keep students from simply "hanging around" without making progress of some sort or a contribution to the cumulative knowledge of the College.

After the first few days, the novelty and excitement of being a student wore off, and Falcotte's thoughts returned to the question of the purpose of the College. Before arriving, he'd imagined that there was some grand plan or goal pursued by the instructors and students; some greater meaning or theme to their work. Instead, it was an undirected group of people each pursuing their own agenda and goals. Most of the time, those goals did not reinforce one another, and occasionally were in direct opposition. The oppositional goals and typical mage egos often led to confrontations, which ranged from shouting matches to physical assault.

After the first few weeks, Falcotte tried his best to avoid students he'd identified as troublemakers. He kept mostly to himself and tried to determine his own agenda and goals.

There were slightly fewer than two hundred people at the College. Ten were instructors, and the rest students. The students ranged in skill from some who had been at the College for years and were nearly as adept as the instructors to some, like him, who had recently joined. Falcotte was surprised by the number of Dunmer; almost half of all the students and a third of the instructors were Dunmer. Morrowind was east of Skyrim and not too distant, but given the historic animosity between Nords and elves, Falcotte found it curious that there so many at the College.

If he'd been asked to pick his favorite person at the College, Falcotte wouldn't have hesitated before saying, "Urag gro-Shub." The orc who maintained the Arcanaeum was unusual for his kind. Falcotte had met many orcs growing up in High Rock, and they held a near universal disdain for magic. While they maintained some written records and histories, very few orcs could be called scholars or historians. Both terms certainly applied to Urag gro-Shub. He wasn't "friendly" because no orc could ever be considered friendly, but he was not belligerent or threatening either. Falcotte would spend hours talking with Urag gro-Shub about orcs, books, the College and Winterhold, and anything else the orc wanted to discuss. Falcotte was amazed at the depth and breadth of Urag's knowledge.

Urag did not have a good answer for the question that had been plaguing Falcotte since his arrival. "It has been over 80 years since the Great Collapse, Urag. Why hasn't Winterhold been rebuilt?"

Facial expressions on orcs were very difficult to interpret, but Falcotte thought that Urag looked puzzled by the question.

"I'm not certain there is a good answer for that question." The orc's voice was rough and rolling, like boulders crashing into one another. It had taken Falcotte hours of listening before he was able to understand what Urag said without having him repeat what he said several times. "The Nords are a superstitious people and consider Winterhold unlucky, if not outright cursed. They also don't like magic much more than the orcs." Urag gave what Falcotte interpreted as a grin. Falcotte hadn't realized that orcs could smile or wink, and he couldn't help chuckling. Before meeting Urag, Falcotte would have bet that orcs didn't have any sense of humor.

"Maybe 80 years isn't long enough."

Falcotte found himself thinking about the question constantly. Even if no one wanted to reestablish the city, why didn't they at least remove the wreckage? Constantly seeing reminders of the catastrophe was not helping the current residents in any way. Falcotte doubted that there were more than a handful of the current residents had been alive when the Great Collapsed occurred. These people were wallowing in the tragedy of their parents and grandparents rather than getting on with their own lives.

Soon after he started the conversations with Urag, Falcotte began to wander the physical ruins of Winterhold and talk to the city residents. At first, no one would answer his questions or even talk to him about the Great Collapse or the ruins. He could see looks of revulsion on the faces of people passing by when he examined the ruins of the buildings. After seeing this look on several faces and tears in the eyes of one old woman who might have actually experienced the Great Collapse, Falcotte realized that they saw his investigations as little better than grave robbery. He was an outsider and a member of the very group that they believed had brought this ruin, and they felt his poking around in the remains was an insult. When he finally saw himself and his actions through their eyes, Falcotte stopped digging through the remains of the city.

Only the eastern quarter of Winterhold had survived the Great Collapse. The western three quarters had crumbled into the Sea of Ghosts, crashing down three hundred feet from where the remains of the city were perched above. Falcotte began to examine the cliff edge, looking for clues about why it had failed and looking for a safe path down to the buried remains.

One of the jarl's officers approached Falcotte while he was looking over the cliff and thinking about what might have caused such a large section of rock to fail. Falcotte looked up as the official approached and raised both hands to show that he was unarmed.

Without preamble or introduction, the man said, "It is unseemly for you to poke around the remains of our city, mage. Several of our citizens have approached the Jarl to complain, and he has sent me to order you to stop picking at the bones of our people."

Falcotte didn't think about his reply, but if he had, he would have thought it was a bit deceitful. "I want to learn exactly how the College brought about this destruction."

The official was taken aback; he had never heard of anyone from the College admitting that they might have been responsible for the destruction of Winterhold. He stammered for a few seconds before he was able to reply, "Let me talk to Jarl Korir. If you really think that the College had something to do with this, he'll probably want you to continue your investigation."

Falcotte realized that he'd implicated the College and wanted to correct himself. It was too late, and the official was already walking away.

Two days later, the people of Winterhold began to talk to him and Jarl Korir sent word that he wanted to meet Falcotte.

Falcotte had been feeling excited and even enlivened by Winterhold's residents' willingness to speak with him. His meeting with Jarl Korir only lasted a few minutes. The Jarl's manner had been measured, but Falcotte went away feeling that he appreciated Falcotte's goal of learning the truth about the Great Collapse. The residents of Winterhold were now at least tolerant of Falcotte even if they were still suspicious and not especially friendly.

The mages at the College had grown decidedly unfriendly over the same period. Mirabelle didn't raise her voice but there was no doubt about how furious she was at Falcotte's pursuit. Most of the rest of the students and staff stopped talking to him. None of them were interested in the truth more than they were interested in protecting the College's reputation.

The one exception was Urag gro-Shub who didn't seem to have an opinion one way or the other. With him, there was an interesting balance between his historian part that always wanted to know what really happened with the part of him loyal to the College. "No one will be happy, Falcotte, no matter what truth you discover," was his final word on the subject.

The Arch Mage eventually summoned Falcotte to his quarters. When Falcotte arrived, the Arch Mage indicated that he should have a seat, and then Savos Aren finished reading a note before looking up at Falcotte.

"Jarl Korir has told me that you are working for him trying to find proof that the College was the cause of the Great Collapse."

"Master, I…" Falcotte started trying to explain the misunderstanding.

The Arch Mage held up a hand. "I suspect that your research isn't exactly what the Jarl thinks it is. He takes great pleasure in trying to upset me, so he might have been trying to make things sound a bit more settled than they really are.

"Still, whatever you find will not be enough for some and too much for others. No matter what you find, some, and maybe most, people are going to disagree and hate you for bearing the message."

The Arch Mage was speaking as if he was discussing the matter with himself more than with Falcotte. His eyes suddenly stared into Falcotte's, and he regained his focus. "You can leave now. Just be ready to be hated when you return with your answer, whatever it is. Keep Mirabelle informed of your progress."

The Arch Mage's attention drifted off to some far place, and his gaze became unfocused. Falcotte got up quickly and left the quarters.

It was the strangest meeting Falcotte had ever had.

His first three months were up. Mirabelle and the instructors assessed him a tuition of one and a half gold Septims. It wasn't an exorbitant amount as he feared it would be, but it was still more than he had. He'd followed the Arch Mage's instructions to keep Mirabelle informed, and his investigation was creating a slight thaw in relations between the College and Winterhold. Even if almost no one at the College would speak with Falcotte, there was no denying that his work had value.

Jarl Korir eventually paid his tuition. Somehow, he had gotten word of Falcotte's tuition and that the young mage would not be able to pay it. Korir immediately sent the required amount to Mirabelle. Korir wanted to know the truth, and Falcotte was the only mage to show any interest in finding it. Korir sent word that he would continue to pay Falcotte's tuition until he stopped investigating or until he found out the truth of the Great Collapse.

Three weeks later, Falcotte found himself stuck and wondering how to proceed. He'd interviewed dozens of people in Winterhold including the Jarl, his chief advisor, and an elderly couple who'd actually lived through the Great Collapse. He'd searched through the Arcanaeum and talked to the instructors. The instructors were still not enthusiastic about his research, but they wanted to present evidence that the College didn't have anything to do with the Collapse, so they were willing to answer his questions. Urag gro-Shub had shown him some documents relating to the incident and had described the devastation caused by the eruption of Red Mountain on Morrowind. There was a theory that the eruptions and earthquakes that followed were somehow responsible for the Great Collapse. Urag wasn't at the College at the time of the eruption, but the effects of the ash plume and earth rumblings were felt throughout Tamrial. Urag described how his tribe and homeland had been affected. One of the residents showed Falcotte an old path that led down the cliff face to the tumbled rocks below Winterhold. Falcotte examined the pieces of building remains he could find, but most of the ruins were buried beneath tons of rock and dirt or had been washed out into the Sea of Ghosts.

Falcotte was on his sixth investigation of the tumbled remains below the city. He'd talked to stonemasons, builders, and even two professional engineers. None of them could think of a good explanation for the collapse of so much solid stone. He'd been climbing over the rock near the remains of the cliff, and his hands and feet were sore and bloody, but he was no closer to an answer than the day he started.

Falcotte looked up and saw the College perched on a single column of stone that had survived the Great Collapse. It suddenly dawned on him that he might have been asking the wrong question.

Any evidence of why the cliff collapsed was probably buried, but perhaps he could determine why the College did not crumble. There it sat, the lone survivor of a catastrophe. Even the stone walkways leading up to the College had survived when the supporting stone fell away. The College had magical wards and protections. However, Falcotte could not imagine how much raw power would be required for a spell powerful enough to keep the building and underlying rock upright when the rest of the area was crumbling into the water below.

Perhaps the College and column of supporting rock contained a clue about why it had survived. The rock column contained passages, caves, and fissures that could be accessed from the College. Students and instructors called the caves and passages beneath the College "the Midden." Falcotte had been in them before, but he'd never carefully explored them. When he got back up to the College, he would start planning his investigations.

Falcotte thought that since he was already down here, he would take a walk around the supporting stone column and see if anything jumped out at him. However, he gave up the idea after taking a few steps toward the College. The tide, which had been going out when he'd started investigating the tumbled ruins, was coming back in, and the mid-Autumn sky was blanketed in gray clouds as far as he could see in every direction. The arrival of a sudden storm along with a rising tide could be fatal, and sudden storms were common this time of year. It would be better to start his investigation of the College's base as the tide was on its way out so that he would have plenty of time. He thought he was more likely to find any remaining clues inside the Midden than on the rock face of the column. Besides, he wouldn't have to worry about being washed out into the Sea of Ghosts while investigating the Midden.

The old path was unsafe and treacherous even in the best weather, but it had gotten worse as the weather had grown colder. Water that would gather in puddles during the day would freeze at night causing the dirt and rock to crumble and crack. It was slow going for Falcotte as he worked his way up the trail.

As he neared the top of the cliff, something out of place at the edge of a puddle caught his attention. When he bent over to investigate, he found a gold disk about an inch and a half across. It was covered in writing, some script that Falcotte had never seen before. He turned it over and saw that the backside was also covered in the same script. There was a small loop on the edge, and Falcotte guessed that it was probably worn around the neck as a charm or memento of some sort. He cleaned the disk off as best he could and continued up the trail.

Before returning to the College, Falcotte decided to stop at the Frozen Hearth, the only inn in Winterhold. He didn't have enough money to buy anything, but he hoped to speak with some of the locals, and he was hoping to help further improve the relations between the College and city. When he stepped through the door, all the noise and bustle inside the inn came to an abrupt halt. Falcotte noticed immediately and saw that everyone had turned to look directly at him. When he looked around, Falcotte spotted three strangers sitting at a table on the far side of the room. He recognized the other dozen or so people as locals, but he'd never seen the strangers before.

Falcotte made it a point not to look at the strangers as he made his way over to speak with Dagur, the proprietor.

"Did I do something wrong or interrupt something, Dagur?"

Dagur handed him a mug of ale and nodded his head just slightly toward the strangers. "Them's Stormcloak recruiters."

Falcotte had heard of the rebels who were fighting the Empire for control of Skyrim. These three were the first he'd ever seen though.

On instinct, Falcotte started to take a drink of the ale but stopped just before the mug reached his lips.

Dagur nodded and said, "On the house, mage. Pretend you just stopped in for a quick ale, drink up fast, and get out of here before there is any trouble."

Falcotte thought that Dagur's advice was very wise and took a long drink of the ale. The noise and activity inside the Frozen Hearth quickly returned to near normal as Falcotte drank his ale. It looked like there wasn't going to be any trouble.

Falcotte only had a couple of drinks left when things went sour. Dagur's eyes went wide an instant before Falcotte felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Imperial, aren't ye?" The man's words were slurred, and his breath was thick with vapors from too much ale.

"I am a Breton, born and raised in High Rock, if that answers you question."

Falcotte began to concentrate on a protective charm and an elemental fire spell just in case things started to get out of hand. The very last thing he wanted to do after all of his work improving relations was to use magic against some of their fellow Nords.

"What business do you have in Skyrim? Bad enough all these Dunmer around."

"I attend the College here in Winterhold." The instant he said it, Falcotte knew it was the wrong answer.

"A damnable mage on top of being an Imperial?" The Stormcloak grabbed Falcotte's robes by the shoulders and lifted him nearly off the ground. Falcotte looked up to all but the shortest Nord adults, and the man assaulting him was taller and more powerful than most Nords. His assailant was nearly a foot and a half taller than Falcotte.

Falcotte was about to invoke the protection charm when a mug smashed into the side of the recruiter's head. The Stormcloak released his grip on Falcotte's robes, and Falcotte dropped to the ground. He quickly stepped back as the recruiter grabbed his head and dropped to his knees.

Jarl Korir stood behind the man holding an empty mug. Falcotte was momentarily surprised. The Jarl was much taller and physically fit than Falcotte had thought. During their meetings, the Jarl had always been sitting, slumped in his chair, so Falcotte had not realized how tall he was. Jarl Korir was easily three inches taller and much broader across the shoulders than the recruiter. He made Falcotte feel like a small boy in comparison.

"I told Ulfric Stormcloak that you could pass through here and talk any who wanted to into joining your cause."

Korir kicked the recruiter between the shoulder blades, and the man's face smashed into the floor. "I did not tell him that you could assault the residents of my city.

"Now, finish saying your piece to those that will listen and mind your manners, or I'll have your corpses tossed into the Sea of Ghosts and tell Ulfric to send more civil representatives in the future."

Korir looked at Falcotte, "You finish your ale quick and get back to that College of yours. What's being said here does not concern you or them." The Jarl dropped the mug on the recruiter and walked out of the inn.

The inn was still in a state of stunned silence when Falcotte downed the last of his ale and quickly left. By the looks on their faces, Falcotte knew that if any of the recruiters ever had the opportunity, they would kill him.

Early the next day, Falcotte began his investigation of the Midden. They were easy to enter from a set of stairs outside of the Hall of the Elements, and Falcotte had been in the upper rooms before. He had gone in long enough to dispose of the results of a failed alchemical experiment, but that had been his only visit. Others he'd talked to had claimed to visit more frequently and had ventured deeper into the galleries and tunnels beneath the towers and walls of the College.

There were some places where glowing crystals embedded in the walls provided enough light to see. There were also several species of weakly luminescent moss and fungus that provided a bit of light. However, for most of his explorations, Falcotte had to maintain a magical source of light. That small but constant drain limited to amount of time he could effectively search.

Some of the walls and passages were cut stone blocks, obviously part of a construction effort by past builders. However, most of the rooms and passages had been carved out of the rock. As he entered the lower depths, the tunnels and rooms became natural tunnels and caves rather than manmade constructions.

If there had ever been a plan to the layout of the rooms and tunnels, Falcotte could not discern it.

Students, and more than a few instructors, had used the Midden for centuries as a hiding place to conduct magical experiments. Not all magical research was always looked on with favor, and, occasionally, some practice or other would be banned. The Midden provided a place where those practices could be pursued out of sight of those in authority. There were also certain cisterns, some whose bottoms had never been discovered, where students dumped the remains of failed alchemical experiments. The remains of countless animals were scattered on the floors throughout the Midden. There were numerous rumors concerning students who met their end or had their remains disappear in the Midden The Midden was a combination garbage dump, laboratory, and cemetery.

Falcotte encountered countless shrines and alters to various gods and daedric beings. Most of them were places to commune with the gods or for summoning malefic beings from the plane of Oblivion. However, some of the alters served as places for necromantic pursuits. Falcotte felt his skin crawl with revulsion when he was near some of the alters.

The residue of failed experiments and spell castings permeated the Midden. Falcotte became progressively more attuned to the unhealthy aura of the place as he spent more and more time beneath the College. He began to have serious doubts about the wisdom of perching the College above such a toxic place.

Falcotte also noticed the temperature in the tunnels and rooms. Autumn was almost past, and the winter wind and snow had already arrived. The outside temperatures were never as warm as Falcotte would have liked, and they had dropped considerably since his arrival in Winterhold. Beneath the College, however, the temperatures had not changed much, and it was warmer than Falcotte thought it should be. He knew that it shouldn't be as cold as it was outside, but it just felt too warm. Falcotte thought that there must be some source of heat deeper beneath the College, but he hadn't found it.

Falcotte finally, literally, tripped over the clue he was looking for in the Midden. He was in a small room that he guessed had been used for storage and his foot caught on something buried in the remains of some boxes and cabinets. When he dug through the debris, Falcotte found a sealed chest. Along with the physical seal on the chest lid, it had been protected by a magical ward against the effects of time and decay. The chest had not moldered away like the rest of the contents in the room.

It took Falcotte the better part of a day to bypass and deactivate the magical ward and another hour to get the chest open without damaging the contents. The chest contained the personal diaries and papers of a Dunmer, a former instructor of alteration magic. The dates in the earliest diaries were years before the Great Collapse, but the final dates were very close to the Great Collapse. Here was an archive from the time leading up to the Great Collapse.

Falcotte could barely contain himself as he bundled the books and documents up to take out of the Midden. There was too much to read and it was too cold and damp to try to read them immediately. It would be better to get the documents somewhere he could read them at leisure and in comfort. He made certain that he hadn't missed anything important and headed back to his room in the College.

It took Falcotte several days to read, and in some instances translate, the documents. He could hardly believe what he was reading. When he finally completed reading everything and thought that he knew how to proceed, Falcotte approached Urag gro-Shub to talk through what he had found. He knew that explanations that seemed perfectly reasonable when you were thinking about them to yourself could seem utterly ridiculous when you tried explaining them to someone else. Falcotte wanted to make certain that he wasn't being a fool.

Delos Velothi was a Dunmer from Morrowind. He and his wife and son came to Skyrim as refugees following the eruption of Red Mountain. After a few years of wandering and looking for a place to settle down and start over, Delos heard about the College of Winterhold. A place where the arcane arts were welcomed and studied was just the sort of place Delos wanted. He had grown tired of dealing with the general Nord suspicion of and hostility to magic. Delos and his family made the trip north, and he was able to secure a position as an instructor of alteration magic. The family lived a comfortable existence in an atmosphere that welcomed them and Delos' skills with magic.

Sigurd Stoneway was a Nord student from the village of Ivarstead. His people farmed and trapped in the region around the village, but Sigurd had developed a talent for magic at an early age. While he was as big and strong as any Nord, Sigurd preferred more cerebral and intellectual pursuits to the physical pursuits typical of Nord boys. Rather than see him become the butt of jokes and ultimately withdraw from society, his mother and uncle gathered enough gold to send Sigurd off to the College of Winterhold.

The atmosphere of the school was entirely different from what he'd experienced in Ivarstead, and Sigurd's knowledge and skills grew rapidly.

Delos immediately recognized Sigurd's skill, and the young Nord became his favorite and most accomplished student. In only two years, Sigurd's wards became a match in both subtly and strength compared to Delos'. In time, other aspects of Sigurd's magical skills began to rival Delos' skills, but the Dunmer felt nothing but pride for his student.

Sigurd began to show a talent for elemental earth magic. This was a rare gift among the elves, and Delos had never heard of a human gifted with the talent. Sigurd described it as the earth whispering secrets to him. He told Delos several items of news and gossip that he shouldn't have known. Even the stones of the Arch Mage's quarters whispered to Sigurd. Delos found Sigurd's skill amazing, but he didn't tell the Arch Mage for fear of his reaction. What would the Arch Mage do with a young mage who could literally speak to the stones of the College? Delos asked Sigurd about how far away he could hear the stones, and Sigurd said he could sometimes hear whispers from as far away as Whiterun and Solitude.

After a trip into the Midden, something changed in Sigurd. As the days and weeks passed, he grew more withdrawn and reclusive. Delos wrote that Sigurd seemed to be avoiding him, and he noted with alarm that Sigurd was looking thin and unhealthy.

Delos' final entry said that he and Sigurd were going into Winterhold to discuss what was bothering the young man.

The final entry in the diary was in a different hand. The writer reported that Delos had been killed when a portion of Winterhold collapsed into the Sea of Ghosts. The winter storms were continuing and growing in ferocity. Portions of Winterhold continued to crash into the Sea. The writer did not seem to have read the rest of the diary and did not mention anything about Sigurd's fate. The writer sealed the document away in a chest and placed it in the Midden storage room.

The chest and story remained undisturbed until Falcotte found it 80 years later.

Falcotte showed the diary to Urag gro-Shub. The orc archivist immediately recognized the importance and relevance of the diary and read it with interest.

"Well, that is an interesting story, Falcotte. It isn't the whole tale by any stretch, but it is a place to start.

"Later today, I will go through the archives of student records and see if I can find anything about this Sigurd Stoneway. I will also see if I can find any notes or scrolls by either Delos or Sigurd that might tell us more. I doubt that they left any written description of his elemental earth talents because I would know about those. Still, there might be some other clues."

It turned out that Sigurd did not leave behind any written records. There were numerous writings by Delos on various aspects of alteration, but there was nothing specifically about Sigurd or his gifts.

Urag gro-Shub found a record of Sigurd's admittance to the College, and several entries for his tuition assessments. The final entry stated that he left the College shortly after Delos' death with the intention of returning to Ivarstead.

After getting all of these points wrapped up, Falcotte wrote a detailed report and presented it to Mirabelle Ervine. It wasn't the final answer, but Falcotte wanted to show he was making progress. Over Mirabelle's objections, he also shared what he'd put together with Jarl Korir. While it looked like the College was involved with the Great Collapse, it was a Nord student that was implicated. Jarl Korir listened attentively to Falcotte's findings.

"You need to make a trip to Ivarstead and see if any of his people are still there and remember his story. Come back in three days, and my steward will have funds for your trip as well as a document with my seal to present if there is any trouble.

"Ivarstead is a backwater, and the roads between here and there are not as safe as they used to be. You might want to see if one of your fellow college students would like to travel with you. I will provide enough funds for two people to make the trip."

As Falcotte expected, no one at the College was interested or willing to make the trip to Ivarstead with him. A couple of the younger, more adventurous residents of Winterhold were willing to accompany him, but Falcotte decided not to take any of them up on their offers.

Falcotte decided to take a carriage from Winterhold to Whiterun. That would be safe enough and not likely to be made any safer by having someone else travel with him. From Whiterun, he hoped to accompany a merchant or someone else heading toward Ivarstead. There was plenty of merchant traffic between Whiterun and Ivarstead, and Falcotte thought that attaching himself to some of that would result in a trip as safe as any.

At sunrise on the day after he picked up the Jarl's letter and funds, Falcotte departed Winterhold on one of the carriage wagons that traveled between hold capitals. Even in a carriage, the trip would take many days. Three other residents were also using the carriage, so he had plenty of company on the trip. One of them got off at Windhelm, and the other two got off at Whiterun with Falcotte.

Whiterun was in an uproar, and there was not going to be any merchants travelling between there and Ivarstead for some time. Rumors of a dragon destroying the village of Helgen ran through the city creating panic and threatening chaos. The people of Whiterun talked about nothing else, and discussions of the future seemed to grow grimmer with each retelling.

The city guards and Jarl Balgruuf circulated around the city, trying to reassure the residents and prevent panic and unrest. Falcotte was actually surprised at how orderly the city remained even as rumors went around the city seemingly in an instant. He knew that in more "civilized" regions of the empire there would have been riots and panic at the mere rumor of a dragon anywhere within 500 miles. A nearby town had been destroyed by a dragon, and the residents of Whiterun were still going about their daily business. The Nords were a grim and often fatalistic people, but in such trying circumstances, they acted with more civility than many supposedly more civilized peoples.

Falcotte approached every merchant and stall vendor he could find. He was hoping that at least one of them would be willing to travel or send someone to Ivarstead. No one was interested and didn't know anyone that was. Falcotte visited lending houses and warehouses to see if they would be sending anyone to Ivarstead in the near future, but none of them had any such plans. He finished by visiting some local healers and alchemists to see if they knew anyone willing to travel to Ivarstead, but he had no luck with them either.

When Falcotte finally gave up for the day, he headed over to the Bannered Mare to get a room for the night. He would get a hot meal and good night's sleep and then make plans for the next day. He didn't want to return to Jarl Korir and admit defeat, but, if that was what happened, he would not feel any shame in being defeated by a dragon.

After bargaining for a room for the evening and a meal, Falcotte joined the other patrons gathered in the common room. The meal was hot and filling even if it wasn't fancy, and Falcotte decided to relax with a pint of the local ale before turning in for the evening. He had just paid and was returning to his chair when through the door came a man, or woman, Falcotte at first glance wasn't certain which, who looked like they had been sleeping outdoors for a week and hadn't bathed in a month.

"Ale!" bellowed the newcomer, a man judging by the tone of voice, as he dropped himself into a chair beside the spot where Falcotte had been sitting.

Falcotte thought about taking a different chair on the other side of the room but decided against it. Something prompted him to return to his chair. He tried not to look at the newcomer as he resumed his seat and took a drink of ale.

A serving woman brought a mug of ale over to the man and departed as quickly as she could.

The man looked him over and then took a long drink of ale.

"Been hunting outside Riverwood for nearly three weeks. This is the first ale I've had since heading out that way. I'm not much for civilized cities and such, but a ready supply of good ale almost makes it worthwhile to visit this dung heap." His voice was loud, but his tone was light and mocking. Falcotte thought he was only joking about civilization, but several other patrons were eyeing him suspiciously.

"Been out for three weeks? What about rumors of a dragon destroying Helgen? Isn't that pretty near Riverwood?"

"Boy, those are not rumors. A bit more than a week ago, I stood above the ruins of Helgen. It looked like a dozen marauding armies passed through. I doubt there is a single former resident within a hundred miles of that place. Besides that, I have seen the dragon on two separate occasions. Both times were from miles away as it flew through the sky, but I have seen it."

Falcotte was becoming interested in the man's tale."You didn't think it foolhardy to be out in the wilderness while a dragon that destroys entire towns was flying about?"

"I think that if the dragon is looking for you in particular, no place will be safe. I don't think there is a lot of danger for a single man out in the forests and mountains though. I heard the beast's screams long before I saw it. I am certain that it never saw me, and it probably had more important things to do than to hunt down a weathered old Nord like me."

Falcotte couldn't argue with the man's reasoning. Besides, the Nord had seen the dragon and been out in the wilderness while it was in the area, so Falcotte didn't see any profit disagreeing with him. A thought suddenly occurred to Falcotte.

"Can you get me to Ivarstead?"

The Nord stopped drinking his ale. "The road between here and Riverwood is pretty safe, and I know several tracks and trails between there and Ivarstead.

"Still, we'd have to pass closer to Helgen than I would like."

"Why don't you want to get near Helgen? Do you think the dragon will go back there?"

"No, the dragon was heading west the last time I saw it, and it might be in High Rock now for all I know. I'm worried about bandits. All of the paths and roads from Riverwood to Ivarstead pass close to or through Helgen."

"Why should there be bandits in Helgen? Won't they be avoiding the dragon like everyone else?"

"Their kind are always the first to return to a place like Helgen. Once they set up camp and begin to loot, it is hard work to uproot them; much too difficult for an old hunter and young gentleman such as yourself."

"How much to get me to Ivarstead without tangling with bandits in Helgen or anywhere else?"

"Five gold up front and another five when we reach Ivarstead."

Falcotte thought that the price was outrageous, but he decided it would be better to pay than admit defeat and return to Jarl Korir.

"When can we leave?"

"Tomorrow at noon. Meet me at the Drunken Huntsman with coin in hand. Better get yourself sufficient rations for at least two weeks. Who knows how far out of the way we might have to go or how long we might have to stay still if the dragon returns."

"Tomorrow at noon then." Falcotte finished off his ale and got to his feet.

"Name's Falcotte," he said as he turned to go.

"Skar the Hunter," the Nord replied.

Falcotte nodded and headed toward his room.

Falcotte was often stunned and speechless at the beauty around him as he traveled. During his journey to the College of Winterhold, he'd been so intent on arriving that he didn't pay much attention to the land going by as he traveled. There was a certain raw and powerful beauty to the Winterhold region, but the weather was usually cold and damp, so the scenery was shrouded in mist and fog. Out here with Skar, away from the Sea of Ghosts, the weather was warmer and sunnier, and the air was clearer. Around any turn or over a rise, there might be a view of a majestic mountain peak or a powerful rushing river. As counterpoints, countless small streams flowed gently through meadows of hardy, colorful flowers. Falcotte would stand beside the streams and listen to the gentle and relaxing sound of the water flowing past. Falcotte began to appreciate why the Nords were so fiercely devoted to Skyrim.

Skar moved fast and quiet while they were traveling. He didn't ever speak but would communicate with gestures and facial expressions. Skar was skilled and certain in his steps, and Falcotte could hardly hear a sound even though he was just a few feet behind the Nord. Falcotte was not as skilled and made considerably more noise, but he became quieter as they traveled together. Falcotte studied the way Skar moved and stepped and tried to emulate the hunter.

Because of Skar's skills and silence, they encountered several wild animals that normally avoided humans. They ended up close enough to some deer that Falcotte could almost have petted them. They watched for several minutes as a fox and her kits played in a clearing. That same silence and skill allowed them to avoid several wolves and a cave bear as well.

They were a week out from Riverwood and camped for the night. Skar turned to Falcotte and said, "I've been meaning to ask you, Falcotte, what brings a young gentleman such as yourself out this way? What is so important that you are willing risk getting eaten by a dragon to get to a nowhere place like Ivarstead?"

Falcotte hesitated before answering then said, 'Jarl Korir of Winterhold sent me out here to investigate a matter that interests him."

"Jarl Korir of Winterhold? You from that College there?" Skar's eyes widened.

Falcotte tensed. He didn't want to be abandoned, or worse, out in the wilderness. "Why do you think I am from the College?"

"I'm a hunter, Falcotte, not a blind fool. No Jarl of Skyrim would send someone he cared a bit for out alone this far from his hold. Since Korir is willing to see you lost or dead, I assume you weren't a regular resident of Winterhold. Besides that, you are obviously not a native of Skyrim, and the only reason for visitors in Winterhold is the College."

Falcotte couldn't dispute Skar's points, so he admitted, "Yes, I am a mage from the College of Winterhold."

"Well, now, I am impressed." Skar's expression and tone brightened. "I didn't think you mage types would leave your towers to stomp around the wilderness with someone like me. Maybe you would travel with a Jarl and his guards or a merchant caravan with lots of protection."

"I tried to find a caravan or large group coming this way, but no one was willing to risk getting eaten by a dragon." Falcotte smiled at his final sentence.

"Well, you're a rare one anyway, Falcotte. You're also getting better at moving without making a racket. You might make me rethink my position on mages. Maybe you are worth something after all."

The two men continued to talk and share their stories as the night came on and the moons rose. Both were still guarded and didn't share everything, but they were more open than they had been.

Before turning in for the night, Skar said, "We'll be in Ivarstead about noon, day after tomorrow."

Ivarstead truly was little more than a wide spot where a couple of roads met. There were a few buildings and a mill on the nearby river. There was an inn, the Vilemyr Inn, with a small general store next door. Falcotte didn't see anything that looked like a town hall and he couldn't even guess who might be the "leader" of such a small community.

Falcotte paid Skar the remainder of his fee, and the two men shook hands.

"Pleasure traveling with you, mage Falcotte. Look me up anytime you pass through this region of Skyrim. You can find me or rumors of my passing through in the local taverns and inns."

"Thanks for having the backbone to escort a citified mage through dragon infested wilderness, Skar the Hunter. If you ever get to Winterhold, don't mention my name to anyone from the College. Most them don't like me, and the rest hate me."

The two men laughed together a final time and went their separate ways.

Falcotte got the outline of Sigurd's return from some locals drinking in the Vilemyr Inn. Sigurd Stoneway, of course, was long dead. He'd gained a bit of local notoriety when he returned from Winterhold, but most people agreed that he'd been foolish to even associate with "those occultists" in Winterhold. Sigurd got married, settled down to farming a small plot north of town and mostly kept to himself. His only child, a daughter, had died a few years ago, but her daughter still lived on the family plot and had kept the farm going.

The proprietor of the Vilemyr Inn gave him directions to the Stoneway farm after Falcotte paid for a room and meal.

The next day, Falcotte made his way out to the Stoneway farm and introduced himself to Freida Stoneway, Sigurd's granddaughter. She was tall and slender with long blonde hair she wore in a braid. Even at nearly 50, she was a striking woman and must have been stunning in the first bloom of young womanhood. Having seen how passionate and impulsive Nords could be, Falcotte imaged that the brawls and duals for her attention would have been many and fierce. Falcotte didn't see anyone else on the farm and wondered if her husband had died or perhaps ran off to join the Stormcloaks.

Falcotte told Freida that he was from the College and was compiling a history of some former students. Sigurd was one of those students, so Falcotte had come to Ivarstead to learn more about him and what became of him after leaving the College.

"I'm afraid that there isn't much I can tell you. My mom could have told you more, but she is gone. Even she couldn't have told you much about her father's time at the College. She told me that he refused to talk about that period of his life.

"Something bad obviously happened, though because he avoided any discussions of Winterhold and the College. We all knew about the Great Collapse which occurred just before he left and returned home, but something else must have happened."

"His favorite instructor was killed during the Great Collapse. Perhaps he was suffering because of that?"

"Maybe, but Nords do not look at death the way others do. We believe that the worthy will meet again in Sovngarde, so death is not a permanent separation. Such pining, even for a close friend, would not be in character for any Nord."

"Did your grandfather leave any papers or possessions he might have brought back from the College?"

"If he ever had any, they are long gone. I never saw or knew of any such items."

"Well, can you tell me about your grandfather's life after he returned here?"

"He came back from the College and lived on the Stoneway farm. He rarely visited with other people, but he was always polite and friendly when he did. I have never heard anyone say anything bad about him, except for comments about his time mixing with mages at the College. My grandmother was the daughter of a traveling merchant. She fell in love with Sigurd at their first meeting, and the two of them were married about five years after his return to Ivarstead.

"My mother was born a few years later, and I was born about 30 years after his return. He died when I was in my mid-teens, and my grandmother had died a few years before that.

"Except for the brief time at the College, Sigurd was no different than any of the other men who grew up here and became farmers.

"My mother and I ran this place after Sigurd passed until a few years ago when I took over after she passed on."

"What about your father or your husband?

"My father was a mercenary who had my mother before heading off to die in some useless battle. I never knew him.

"I have never been married. Even though no one can say anything bad about him, men in this region remember my grandfather with some suspicion, and the Stoneway name is not well regarded."

Falcotte saw the pain in Freida's face and felt bad for being so assuming. "I apologize for my question, Freida."

"The state of my family name is not your fault.

"I don't know how this place has gotten by year to year for as long as it has. It isn't because of anything Sigurd learned at that College. We've done little more than make enough to pay the tax levies and keep ourselves from starving to death. It is hardly a tale worth retelling in a history of the College of Winterhold."

"Who can say which people and actions will turn out to have the greatest affects on history? A common man in the right place at the right time might have a more lasting affect than a king or great warrior." Sigurd's story, at least the story known to the people here in Ivarstead wasn't the stuff of legends. But what if he had a hand in the Great Collapse? His contribution to history would have been greater than the contribution of most other men.

It looked like Sigurd had tried to forget the College and everything about it when he returned to Ivarstead.

"One last thing, and I mean no disrespect, but does he have a tomb or marker that I might visit to pay my respects as a fellow student of the College?"

Freida nodded and indicated that Falcotte should follow her. She led him on a path that curved up a rocky hillside. Soon they were standing before an iron bound door that led into a cliff face. Freida produced a ring with several keys, found the right one, and unlocked the door.

"I have always hated this place. If feels so cold and sad."

"People and events can leave…impressions that remain long after they have passed. Perhaps that is what you feel. Many people take these feelings as a sign that a place is haunted, but it is just memories and residue of the past."

Freida gave him a skeptical look and entered the tomb. The space was much larger than Falcotte would have guessed, with niches cut into the walls and a number of stone platforms carved out of the rock of the floor. The burial items and mortal remains of dozens of people were on display. Freida stepped over to a stone table and pointed.

"Here are the remains of Sigurd Stoneway, farmer of Ivarstead and one time mage of the College of Winterhold."

Freida spoke the words in a formal manner and it almost sounded like an incantation to Falcotte.

As Falcotte approached, he felt a shiver run through his body from head to foot. Falcotte noticed that Freida crossed her arms over her chest and shivered as well. Falcotte composed himself, looked down at the remains, and quietly spoke a prayer for Sigurd's spirit.

"You have the stink of the College of Winterhold on you, mage."

The words echoed faintly in his head; as if he was hearing them from a great distance through a stone canyon. Falcotte looked at Freida, but she was just staring down at the remains.

"She can't hear me. It is difficult enough to speak to you much less someone whose mind is not attuned to the spiritual realm. I will be brief since remaining in your presence causes me…discomfort.

"Why is a mage of the College of Winterhold disturbing my tomb?"

Falcotte spoke the words in his head, hoping that the shade of Sigurd would be able to "hear" them. "I am searching for the cause of the Great Collapse which destroyed Winterhold."

"Ah, my great shame is finally being brought to light then. Good, perhaps my spirit will finally be able to rest."

"You caused the Great Collapse?"

"No and yes. On a trip into the Midden, I heard the stone whisper that it was failing and soon all of Winterhold and the College would crumble into the Sea of Ghosts. I immediately decided that I was the one destined to save the College of Winterhold.

"I was prideful of my skills and dreamt of being hailed as a hero like one hears about in the old tales. I fully explored the Midden and the caves and tunnels under the city until I found the heart of the fracture.

"I should have brought the news to Delos Velothi, but my foolishness and pride bested me, and I tried to close the fracture myself.

"The instant I started trying to mend the fracture, it broke open further, and the crack continued to grow. Instead of a remedy, I only added poison to the wound. From that moment on, I worked continually and tried everything I could to stop the spreading fracture, but my magical skills were too feeble. I even resorted to securing a dozen charms used by the Ashlanders of Morrowind to protect against earthquakes. Nothing worked; actually, everything I tried seemed to make matters worse.

"Finally, I broke down and confessed to Delos what I'd done. I brought him to the heart of the fracture, but the situation was too far gone for even him to remedy. The fracture finally gave way completely when Delos tried to mend it with his magic. He was crushed instantly when the roof above him collapsed. I was barely able to escape with my life.

"That was the start of the Great Collapse. I left the College after the cliff face seemed to have stabilized and parts of Winterhold stopped crashing into the sea. There wasn't too much left of the city by that point.

"Very briefly, that is my story. I did not speak of this to anyone in life, not even my family. Since my death, my spirit has been fitful and unable to find rest. Perhaps that will change now that I have confessed my sin."

"Perhaps you were right to start working right away. Maybe it would have been too late if you had gone to Delos or the Arch Mage."

"You're as foolish as I was. Tell me mage, what does the word 'soon' mean to the stones of the earth? I realized too late that my sense of 'soon' was not the same thing as 'soon' to the stone. I think that the College and Winterhold would have been fine for centuries or millennia, but my pride and thirst for fame and glory made me rush into a situation I was not prepared to handle. That mistake cost two hundred and seven people their lives and destroyed a city. I still hear their spirits crying out from time to time.

"You have my story, mage. Take my granddaughter and leave me to the peace of the grave."

Falcotte looked over at Freida and saw tears running down her cheeks. She noticed his stare and quickly wiped the tears away. "I don't even know why I cry in this place," she said.

"Thank you for bringing me here, Freida. We should leave your ancestors in peace."

Just before he was going to step through the door, Sigurd's spirit spoke again. "Mage, the spirits of those who died in the collapse are trapped and cannot move on to their rest. Something is holding them there. If you can, find a way to free them. Beware though; their spirits might be all that is keeping the College and rest of Winterhold from crashing into the Sea of Ghosts. You will have to decide whether freeing them is worth the risk."

Falcotte nodded his head and stepped out of the tomb.

Savos Aren and Mirabelle Ervine stared at Falcotte when he finished his report. Finally, the Arch Mage asked, "The shade of Sigurd Stoneway told you this? Jarl Korir is not going to like your answer. It does make sense though."

The Arch Mage pulled a small gold disk out of a pocket on his robe. "It also explains why I found this in the Midden years ago. I have been carrying it since then."

Falcotte recognized the disk; it was a twin to the one he'd found on the cliff path weeks before. "Master, what is that? I found one out on the cliff as well."

"This is the Ashlander charm that Sigurd's shade mentioned. I was surprised to find one in the Midden and couldn't image what had brought it all the way from Morrowind. Now I know."

The Arch Mage and Mirabelle were still skeptical that Falcotte's tale told the whole story, but they couldn't refute anything he'd told them. How could they argue with the words of a spirit?

As the Arch Mage predicted, Jarl Korir was not satisfied with Falcotte's report. "How can I explain to the people that the spirit of a long dead mage told you what caused the Great Collapse? Who is to blame; a Nord mage, a volcanic eruption that occurred hundreds of miles away decades before, a Dunmer who couldn't repair a crack in the earth and maybe made it worse, what is the answer, Falcotte?"

"Jarl, the world is a complex and complicated place. Simple and easy to understand explanations for events such as the Great Collapse are most often wrong. A Nord's pride hastened the inevitable collapse of Winterhold. That Nord was a member of the College, so the College does share some of the blame. The fracture opened because of an earth event that was an act of the gods.

"Events happen, and we all contribute to the way things are. I guess we are all to blame in some respects since each of us make decisions and take actions that affect the rest of the world."

"Bah, that is no answer for people whose very city was destroyed. Even if your tale is true, and I admit that it is more reasonable that many explanations I've heard, do you think that the average farmer or soldier will accept it? They want simple, easy to understand explanations so they don't have to think hard about things like placing blame. A Nord mage tries to save a doomed city and ends up bringing about its destruction instead? How could they process that? Better to leave them with whatever beliefs they currently hold."

"I just did the investigation, Jarl. What you do with my findings is completely up to you.

"There is one final matter. What do you want to do about the trapped spirits of your kin? Trying to free them, if it is even possible, would be the right thing to do, but it might result in the final destruction of Winterhold and the College."

"What did the Arch Mage say to that question?"

"I did not tell him or anyone else at the College about the trapped spirits. They are your kinsman, and I thought it only proper that you decide their fate. Besides the members of the College wouldn't even consider trying to free them at the risk of destroying the College. They would not risk the College for all of the shades of every Nord that has ever lived."

"You don't do me any favors by leaving such a decision to me, Falcotte. Go now. When and if I make a decision, I will send word to you."

Ultimately, Urag gro-Shub was correct; no one was happy with the answer.


End file.
